


I'm Just a Fool (A Fool in Love With You)

by WickedWriter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Beta Read - We Ascend Like Aziraphale, Cute, Dancing, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21993571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWriter/pseuds/WickedWriter
Summary: He stood up from the couch and sauntered over to Aziraphale, stopping less than an arms length away. “Why don’t you dance with me?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	I'm Just a Fool (A Fool in Love With You)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to SaerM for being an amazing beta for this piece. 
> 
> Title from "Earth Angel" by the Penguins, which is the song that inspired this piece.

Aziraphale stood clutching the record in his hands. His fingers traced the corner of the cardboard cover, and he worried this was a mistake, that maybe he didn’t know Crowley as well as he thought. He and Crowley had been friends for over six thousand years, he knew more about that demon than anything or anyone else in Heaven, Earth, and probably Hell too. What foolishness to think otherwise, even for a moment. Crowley would appreciate this gesture.

With a new resolve Aziraphale removed the record from the sleeve and placed it onto the gramophone. Technically speaking, the old thing shouldn’t have been able to play the more modern- well, relatively modern- record. But Aziraphale didn’t think anything of it and so the machine played just fine. Soft music drifted through the bookshop as Aziraphale went to sit in his usual chair. He held a book, but didn’t open it: Crowley had called to say he was on his way not too long ago, he should be walking in any moment now.

Right on cue, Aziraphale heard the familiar jingle of the bell attached above the front door. He’d locked the door hours ago in a (very successful) effort to keep customers out of the shop, and so it could be no one else. Aziraphale paused the record with a snap of his fingers and stood to greet Crowley.

“Evening, angel,” Crowley loped into the back room of the shop with a bottle of wine and a smile. He placed the wine on the table, where Aziraphale already had two glasses waiting, and set down his usual sunglasses. “Did you have something in mind tonight? You seemed pretty  _ adamant _ that I come over.”

“Oh, well, I just thought it would be nice to spend some time together.” Aziraphale tried to keep his tone casual but it must have been far from the mark judging by the look on Crowley’s face. He hoped that he wouldn’t be questioned further. “How about some music?” With a snap of his fingers, the gramophone started right back up again, the music low. He hoped what exactly was being played wasn’t obvious. Aziraphale wanted to pass the evening pleasantly without Crowley making an ordeal over the music. Or what it meant.

He filled the glasses and was just about to take a seat when Crowley looked towards the old gramophone with an expression of bewilderment.

“Is this Queen?” he asked, incredulous.

Aziraphale took a large sip of wine. “Well, I know you... I mean to say- you do seem to enjoy them ever so much." Aziraphale said, happy at least with his confident finish. He was still standing though, unsure if he should sit again. “And you do so much for me. I thought it would be nice if I, um, gave them a shot. As they say.” Aziraphale could feel embarrassment rising up. 

He’d had the thought a few days ago, when Crowley had driven them out of the city for a picnic. Aziraphale had taken notice of the very limited selection in music for the drive. The very next day, Aziraphale made his way to an old record shop down the street. The man working there, after much harried questioning, had insisted- or perhaps pleaded- that this was the record Aziraphale was looking for. So he left with a copy of Queen’s Greatest Hits and a plan. He figured it would be nice to have something around the shop that Crowley would enjoy, something that would make it feel like his home too. 

Now he was standing across from Crowley, doubt in his mind, as he looked down to fiddle with the cuff of his jacket sleeve, avoiding eye contact. 

“I’m sorry, I can turn it off if you like.” Aziraphale mumbled, starting towards the gramophone. He stopped when Crowley reached his hand out and placed it on his forearm.

“No, don’t.” Aziraphale could see the fondness- perhaps, even doubt- in Crowley’s eyes. Without his sunglasses, every emotion could be easily seen. The small lines of worry along his forehead, the uncertainty in the smile he tried to project, and the way his eyes locked onto Aziraphale’s. He knew Crowley was never good explaining himself, he used actions more than words, and right now everything told Aziraphale how much he appreciated this.

The pair stood for a few moments before Aziraphale relaxed. Of course, part of him had known that Crowley would love this, no matter what, and they no longer had any reason to hide. Hadn’t they abandoned Heaven and Hell so that they could stay on Earth? Together. There was no aspect of himself that Aziraphale would not share with Crowley, and he knew the feeling must be mutual. At the same time though, he’d worried that perhaps this particular piece of himself was something that Crowley would not be willing to share. Silly, of course. But it was nice to know that he’d made the right choice.

Aziraphale handed him a wine glass and finally took his seat in the armchair. Crowley sprawled out further on the couch, taking up far more room than socially acceptable. It was a usual scene for these two, and they began to fill the night with conversation, drinks, and Freddie Mercury singing in the background.

When the music ran out, Aziraphale got up to flip the record over to the other side, stumbling slightly from the wine they had already managed to consume.

“Ya know,” Crowley had a slight slur to his words, “I never thought I'd see the day: you, choosing to listen to Queen! Or, I mean, any music made past the early 1900’s, if I’m being honest.”

Aziraphale tutted. “I can listen to whatever I want to. Although, I do still prefer my music, at least I know how to dance to that.”

“Since when do you know how to dance?” Crowley asked with a look of intrigue.

“I learned, my dear,” Aziraphale finished fiddling with the record and turned back to face Crowley, “unlike others, who lurked around the edges of any social events he was invited to.”

“Sorry for being the only one to actually be doing any work at those.” Sarcasm was evident in his voice. Crowley seemed to have an idea pop into his head and he shuffled on the couch so that he was sitting up, facing Aziraphale. “How about you show me?” 

“I ah, I don’t…” He was reluctant, to say the least. The most modern dance he knew was from the late 1800’s, but he refused to further Crowley’s point about Aziraphale being rather behind the times. “I don’t dance alone,” he said, and hoped that would put an end to the conversation.

“Well then,” Apparently not, judging by the wicked look on Crowley’s face. He stood up from the couch and sauntered over to Aziraphale, stopping less than an arms length away. “Why don’t you dance with me?”

Aziraphale’s eyes shot up to meet Crowley’s. There was an undeniable fear there, hiding just below the facade of calm. Aziraphale could see how he almost held his breath waiting for an answer, as if rejection was at all possible.

“Of course, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled warmly. “But not to this.”

“Right, of course! This is much too modern for you,” Crowley teased. “You need something more, well, more  _ you _ .” 

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley changed the music. The sounds of instrumental music floated through the shop. Aziraphale recognized the tune: it had been part of a popular dance song almost 200 years ago. He remembered attending a few celebrations at that time. The large ballrooms had always been filled with people performing the choreographed dances. Aziraphale never quite figured those out- he usually misstepped or forgot which part came next. Mostly though, he would hang about the food table, wishing that Crowley were there to keep him company. 

Crowley took one of Aziraphale’s hand in his, and gave a low and exaggerated bow. Aziraphale snorted, trying hard not to laugh. Crowley stood back up with a broad smile. 

“Good lord, the only scripted dance I ever learnt was the Gavotte.”

“Nope,” He shook his head, “ _ not _ doing that.”

Instead, Crowley kept his fingers threaded with Aziraphale’s and placed his other hand on his shoulder. He started to move through some kind of dance and Aziraphale had no choice but to follow. It wasn’t quite graceful enough to be considered a waltz, but there wasn’t really another name for it either. Aziraphale laughed as they made their way around the backroom, only running into the table twice. 

Crowley soon had the awful idea to try and lead him into a spin. Neither quite understood the necessary directions, Crowley was pulling one arm above his head to twirl him clockwise. Aziraphale somehow wound up turning the other way and then, tangled and standing backwards, didn’t know how to return to the dance. They both chuckled at their poor attempts. 

“Angel, you’re terrible at this.” Crowley remarked but his voice was filled with affection. 

“I am only as good as my lead, my dear” said Aziraphale, eyes twinkling. 

“Fine, let’s try something else.” Crowley snapped his fingers again, the sounds of exciting swing music filled bookshop.

Aziraphale swallowed a little nervously. This music was nice to listen to but it also came from a time when he and Crowley had not been in contact. They’d argued and, haunted by it, Aziraphale hadn’t tried to reach out. He could remember people dancing to this and thinking to himself how Crowley would fit in so well at the various speakeasies of the time. If not for their argument, perhaps Aziraphale could have enjoyed this music the first time around. 

Crowley grabbed both of his hands, and Aziraphale snapped out of his thoughts. When, after some demonstration, Crowley rocked back for his backstep, Aziraphale was supposed to do the same but was a beat off and stepped at the wrong time. Crowley laughed fondly at his moves but continued to try and teach him anyway.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile back, warmed and overwhelmed by the affection from Crowley. He longed to hang onto it and never let go. It was an ever-present warm sensation that draped over Aziraphale like a cozy blanket. Moments like this always made it more noticeable, when they could just their unguarded selves in the safety of the shop. All fear of being caught could melt away and be replaced by something else, something indescribable, something that Aziraphale longed to feel each and every time they were together. 

Crowley pulled him close, nearly chest to chest, before quickly moving him back out an arms length. It was a simple move, what most people would do nowadays when they had no clue how to dance to swing music but wanted to try anyway. 

On the third time being pulled close, Aziraphale tripped- whether over the carpet, or perhaps his own feet, he wasn’t sure. He stumbled into Crowley, who instinctively wrapped his arms around Aziraphale to steady him against his chest. The two stayed in this accidental embrace, silent and still. Aziraphale didn’t want to move, didn’t want to do anything that would mean having to leave the warmth of Crowley’s arms. But then Crowley loosened his grip and moved back just slightly. Aziraphale wanted to scold himself for his clumsiness, and perhaps for his desire to be held in this embrace: obviously Crowley didn’t want him this close. When he looked up, he was surprised to see nervousness in Crowley’s eyes.

“I- uh,” Crowley started, but his voice was hesitant. “Didn’t mean to…” 

“Quite alright dear,” Aziraphale reassured him.

They were only a few inches of space separating them, Crowley’s arms still wrapped around him. Aziraphale looked between his own hands- which somehow ended up fisted in the designer jacket of his dancing partner- and Crowley’s face, not knowing what to say. 

On one hand, he should apologize and move away- it was hardly polite being this close to someone without their permission. On the other hand, Aziraphale ached to close distance, to place his head on Crowley’s chest and listen to his heartbeat, or the deep rumble of his voice, as Crowley held him. He wanted nothing more than to love and be loved by Crowley. Aziraphale had known this for years. He’d known for certain the night Crowley saved his books, but his love had been growing for so much longer than that, since long before he'd ever had the courage to acknowledge it. Forced by ever-present danger to keep their distance, Aziraphale had never allowed himself to push; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself, had his selfishness been Crowley’s downfall. 

“Too fast for you?” Crowley attempted to pass it off as a joke but Aziraphale gave him a flat look, holding his gaze with firm conviction. Crowley shifted on his feet and looked away, his gaze seeming to catch on the record player. He chuckled and snapped his fingers once more. A soft doo-wop song replaced the exciting rhythms of swing music. 

He recognized it from the 50s, a simple melody composed of a group of voices and light instrumentals. It reminded him of that night in the church. After that night Aziraphale had spent the better part of a decade lost in his thoughts about his own feelings surrounding the demon. The soft crooning of the music had seemed to be his only companion as he sat in the quiet hours of the night, wishing he had the strength to tell Crowley the truth. Of course, at the time, he didn’t. 

Crowley pulled Aziraphale close once more. He took one of Aziraphale’s hands and placed it on his shoulder then curled his own fingers firmly into the soft fabric Aziraphale’s waist. He clasped Aziraphale’s other hand and lead him to sway softly back and forth. They moved slowly, turning in such incremental movements that at first Aziraphale didn’t even notice.

All Aziraphale could do was hold on and allow Crowley to lead him in this intimate dance. He could feel the coolness of Crowley’s hand clasped with his own, which was much too warm to begin with. He looked up, heart racing, to meet Crowley’s eyes. They were filled with hesitation but underneath lurked something more. Aziraphale couldn’t place it, but he knew it was something precious. A nervous energy filled the room.

After all those years of having to keep their distance from each other, being this close felt so uncertain. 

But Crowley was looking at him as though nothing else in the world mattered. It was just them, in the bookshop, holding onto each other. There was no more fighting, no more sides, and most certainly no more hiding. 

They were free. Well and truly  _ free _ . And Aziraphale wanted to spend that freedom with Crowley. Not just to spend time with one another, but to show Crowley how loved, how perfect, he was, and to build their new life together. 

Just as the soft music was coming to a close, Aziraphale stopped moving. 

Crowley furrowed his eyebrows in question.“Everything okay, angel?”

_ That word. _ It always got to him. No matter how fiercely Crowley pretended it was just a title or a description, there was always an accompanying surge of love. He could sense it every time. 

Aziraphale moved his hand from Crowley’s shoulder to cup his jawline. Crowley always pretended to have more confidence than he actually did, so when his expression shifted quickly to apprehension, Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. He leaned forwards and placed a brief kiss onto Crowley’s lips. It was a simple act but into it, he poured all of his devotion.

When he pulled back and looked at Crowley once more, he laughed at the panicked expression Crowley wore, the barest hint of pink covering the bridge of his nose. Aziraphale planted a gentle kiss onto the tip, only serving to turn Crowley’s face a deeper red.

“I’m sorry my dear, I should have asked.” Aziraphale apologized, though he couldn’t regret his actions.

“No!” Crowley’s voice cracked. “Don’t ever be sorry angel.” He let his forehead rest against Aziraphale’s, and said nothing more. Together they stood, eyes closed, hands still clasped to one side from their interrupted dance. Aziraphale kept his other hand on Crowley’s jaw. The song playing ended and the gramophone didn’t dare to make another sound. 

“Are you sure?” Crowley said in a near whisper. 

Aziraphale had to fight back a scoff: he had never been so sure of anything else. This, Crowley needed to know.

“Yes,” he matched Crowey’s tone. “Always, forever, my dear.”

Crowley was the one this time to close the distance and kiss Aziraphale. He pulled Aziraphale in by the waist, as close as their vessels would allow. Aziraphale’s newly freed hand found its way into the mess of red hair and he ran his fingers through the softness. 

They kissed hungrily. Six thousand years’ worth of need and want rushing through them, as they tried to communicate everything they had ever wanted. Their lips moved together perfectly.

Eventually they broke apart. Foreheads resting against the other’s, their breathing a little ragged even though technically they didn’t need air. Aziraphale smiled, he felt like there was nothing else in the world but them. He feared that moving would end this perfect moment, and so he stayed happily wrapped up in Crowley’s arms. 

“If I had known,” Crowley was the one to break the silence, “that  _ that _ was how you danced, I would have asked centuries ago.” 

Aziraphale laughed in surprise at that comment. “Only with you, my love.”

He felt Crowley tense and leaned back to look at him. He seemed startled, as though that nickname, or perhaps the admission within it, was a surprise. Had he really not known that Aziraphale loved him? 

It was settled then, Aziraphale would make it his mission to spend the rest of time showing Crowley how well and truly he was loved.

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and another soft love song filled the room. This time he was the one to lead Crowley, one hand grasping his, and the other resting on Crowley’s waist. He lead them in the same gentle rocking dance, trying to keep time with the music but never quite getting it right.

They continued into the night, only stopping long enough for Aziraphale to lovingly kiss Crowley between each dance. Just one angel, one demon, and a never-ending array of songs to spell out their devotion to each other.


End file.
